


Stregati

by Ely_Baby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-11
Updated: 2008-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:23:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ely_Baby/pseuds/Ely_Baby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is possible in Venice, even what you thought would never happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stregati

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the 2008 Smutty Claus exchange for [](http://quidditchgrrl.livejournal.com/profile)[quidditchgrrl](http://quidditchgrrl.livejournal.com) (former purebloodgryff). Originally posted [here](http://smutty-claus.livejournal.com/105962.html?mode=reply) on [](http://smutty-claus.livejournal.com/profile)[smutty_claus](http://smutty-claus.livejournal.com). This was beta-read by Lord Warcksprout.

 ***

_This was Venice, the flattering and suspect beauty – this city, half fairy tale and half tourist trap, in whose insalubrious air the arts once rankly and voluptuously blossomed, where composers have been inspired to lulling tones of somniferous eroticism._ – Thomas Mann.

***

Hermione paused in the hallway and looked through the thick glass and into the room. Ron was lying on the bed closest to the window, soundly asleep, while Lily was occupying the one near the door. She was awake and playing with some sort of magical toy. Probably something illegal that her Uncle George had brought her during his last visit.

Hermione knocked gently on the window and Lily raised her eyes at once to look at her. A grin spread on the face of the seven-year-old girl as she recognized her aunt. Hermione smiled back, waving a hand.

“How are you?” she mouthed slowly.

Lily shrugged and threw herself in a long, drawn out answer of which Hermione didn’t understand any at all, but she nodded and smiled, not wanting to interrupt the poor girl who was spending her second week in the Hospital. Once she was done, Hermione mouthed a “Great” and finally nodded towards Ron, pointing to his sleeping figure and saying, “Can you call your Uncle Ron over?”

Lily seemed to be more than happy to oblige, she pulled her covers away and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Soon she was running towards the other mattress, taking a run-up and landing playfully on Ron’s stomach.

Hermione felt vaguely delighted when Ron’s eyes snapped open, his hands went automatically to his ribs to test if anything was broken and his face turned red as the air was forced out of him. Lily didn’t wait for him to recover from the shock of being assaulted; she mercilessly began to tickle his tummy.

Hermione saw Ron gasping and trying to stop those little hands of hers, but it took him much longer than it would have usually done. Finally, Lily was pinned on the bed next to him and the situation reversed, as Ron tickled his niece mercilessly.

Amongst gasps and giggling, Hermione saw that Lily managed to say something. Ron stopped his attack, looked down at her and, from the movement of his lips, Hermione read, “When?”

Lily nodded towards the window. A giggle left her lips when her Uncle freed her and she ran over to her bed, hiding under the covers. Ron didn’t give her a second glance as he smiled dumbly at Hermione and pushed away the already half-fallen covers from the bed. He walked up to the window and waved his hand. “Hi,” he mouthed.

Hermione nodded towards the phone next to him and she picked up the one on her side, bringing the receiver to her ear.

“Honestly,” she said, shaking her head.

“It’s not my fault,” Ron defended himself, his voice weak. “You saw her, she attacked me.”

“Ron, she’s seven,” Hermione replied, exasperated.

“I know, but she’s impossibly strong,” he grunted, “I bet George gave her something last time he came to visit.”

“Or maybe she’s just drinking her Healing Potion,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes, “unlike someone else.”

Ron turned towards Lily. “You’re a sneak!” he grunted. “We had a deal. No more desserts from my tray from now on.”

The covers shook with a fit of laughter and when Ron turned to look at Hermione she was glaring at him. “That potion tastes like poo,” he said defensively, shaking his head.

“Oh Ron, honestly, you’re such a child,” sighed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but a fit of coughs prevented any words. His hands and hair paled, shone and gradually disappeared, leaving Hermione able to see through him. “I’m not a child,” he finally coughed out.

“Should I replay our conversation for you, Mr Grown-up?” asked Hermione drily. “Ron, don’t enter into Lily’s room, your mother said that she can’t remember if you’ve already had Vanishing Sickness. _Oh, no Hermione_.” Her voice deepened. “_I’m sure I had it, Mum remembers Charlie caught it and we were seven children in a house, I’m sure we all caught it._ Remember that we have to go to Venice this weekend, don’t do anything stupid. _Stupid! Blimey, Hermione, you don’t know me at all._” Hermione crossed her arms and looked at Ron exasperatedly.

Ron smiled sheepishly. “Is that really my voice?”

Hermione raised her hand. “Ron, please be serious,” she snapped, “I need to talk to you like an adult.”

Ron’s smile faded away. “Okay, what’s up?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “I talked to Shacklebolt about Venice,” she said. “We can’t change the dates.”

“What?” Ron’s face was outraged. “I can’t believe it! Did you tell him that I was sick?”

“Of course I did, Ron,” she sighed, “that’s exactly why I went to see him. The thing is, the meeting isn’t organized by the British Ministry, but by the Italian one and they wouldn’t move it for someone who’s been so thick as to catch a kid’s sickness.”

“And that’s me?” Ron asked defensibly.

“I guess so,” replied Hermione tightly.

Ron fidgeted with the phone. “So, who are they sending?”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “Harry and me,” she replied quietly.

The phone almost fell on the floor. “You’re still going?” he asked disbelieving. “Didn’t you tell him that you have to take care of me?” He pouted. “I’m sick.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t help smiling a little. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know you wanted to let your boss know that you were such a wuss.”

Ron stuck out his tongue to her.

Hermione grinned. “I’m the Head of the Department, I couldn’t miss a convention concerning the new international law restrictions now, could I?”

Ron was quiet for a moment, as his expression began to darken. “So you’re basically going to spend our romantic weekend with Harry…”

Hermione looked down. “Ron,” she whispered, “don’t start this jealousy rubbish when Lily can hear you.”

Ron blushed crimson to match his hair, well, his hair when it was visible. He turned to look at Lily, but she didn’t seem to have heard him at all. She raised her head and smiled at her uncle before he turned back to Hermione again. “Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled apologetically. “So you’ll come back earlier, then…”

Hermione hesitated, then replied, “No, actually, I won’t.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “But the meeting ends on Friday, and we would have used that weekend… you know for what.”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, there’re lots of things to do in Venice, actually. I’ve planned to go sightseeing with Harry.”

“Sightseeing?” groaned Ron.

“Yes, you know, St. Mark’s Square, the Rialto Bridge, the Church of the Salute, places with historical interest,” she replied, a hint of excitement in her voice. “I mean, come on, Ron. The trip is paid for by the Ministry, it would be a waste to come home earlier.” She seemed to think a little about it. “And I’d love to take a ride in a gondola.”

Ron grunted something indecipherable.

“Shacklebolt asked Harry because he’s Head Auror, but if he had refused the second choice was Savage,” she said meaningfully.

Ron seemed to darken and brighten at the same time. “Savage, the one that asked you out two weeks before Hugo was born?” He gripped the phone with force. “And you’re sure that Harry accepted, right?”

Hermione grinned. “I’m pretty sure, yes,” she replied, “Ginny has already asked me what she should pack for him.”

“So, you’re leaving on Thursday and coming back on Monday morning,” he sighed. “My wife is spending four days and four nights in a luxurious hotel in the most romantic city in the world alone with my best friend and I’m not bothered,” he said wonderingly. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I think you’re perfectly all right,” she informed him. “It just means that you are all grown up. It took you long enough.”

Ron blushed. “Yeah, well, it’s not my fault if you’re so stunningly beautiful,” he muttered.

Hermione shook her head. “I know love is blind,” she murmured, “but after two pregnancies I don’t think anyone in their right mind would call me beautiful, Ron.” She smiled softly. “But thanks you for saying it.”

“You’re very welcome,” he whispered, leaning his hand on the window.

Hermione smiled and remembered why she had fallen in love with him. She placed her hand over the glass to match his. “I’ll be back in four days. Hugo is staying with my parents.”

“I love you, Mrs Weasley,” Ron said softly to her.

“And I love you too, Mr Weasley,” Hermione replied. “Call Lily over, will you?”

Ron raised his eyebrows before turning to call their niece. The little girl grinned as she ran eagerly up to the window.

“Hi Auntie,” she said into the phone.

“Hi Lily,” Hermione greeted her. “I have a mission for you.” She lowered her voice. “You have to keep an eye on Uncle Ron. Make sure he drinks his Healing Potion every day and keep snatching his desserts.”

Lily giggled. “Okay, Auntie,” she whispered back, glancing up at Ron.

“Love you, little one.” Hermione smiled softly, “I’ll bring you something from Italy.”

“A toy?” Lily asked eagerly, her brown eyes huge.

“Sure,” replied Hermione.

“Time’s up,” said Ron, picking up his niece, “it’s time for our afternoon nap. Say goodbye to Aunt Hermione.”

“Bye, Auntie,” Lily giggled, waving her hand to Hermione.

Ron grabbed his niece’s wrist and brought the phone to his mouth. “Have a nice trip, Hermione. Say hello to Harry.”

“I will,” she murmured, watching her husband placing his niece into her bed.

***  
  
“Ginny bought me a new swimsuit,” chuckled Harry a few days later. “I told her it was unlikely that we would go to the beach in the middle of October.” He glanced at Hermione, suddenly unsure. “Was I right?” he asked, fidgeting with the covers over Hermione and Ron’s bed.

Hermione looked up from her trunk. “I’m sorry, Harry, what was that again?” she asked distractedly. “I’m not quite sure what to bring for the meeting. Do you think it’s going to be the very boring kind of convention that needs something totally uncomfortable to keep from dozing off?” she asked as she held up a very tiny shirt, a skirt and a jacket in one hand. “Or the sort of thing where we’ll finish early and have cocktails next?” she said as she raised a midnight blue dress with a wide skirt in the other.

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly uneasy. He didn’t like to give fashion suggestions to anybody except to himself, and he wasn’t very good at that either. Actually, both outfits looked fine to him, so he took the easy way out. “Well,” he said, “it’s better to be overdressed than underdressed, I’ve been told. And you can wear the dress if we go to a Muggle restaurant.”

Hermione looked at the dress and then at the sets of robes. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said and folded the formal robes, placing them in her trunk. “And probably I’ll just have to wear Wizarding robes anyway.” She took more time with the dress, folding it with extra care and laid it carefully in the trunk.

“But you can still bring the other one,” Harry hurried to say.

Hermione shook her curly head. “No, no, it’s fine,” she murmured. “I was just remembering that I bought this dress with Ron in mind. I mean, midnight blue is the only colour that doesn’t clash horribly with his hair.” She sighed. “Oh well, serves him right.”

Harry showed signs of a smile. “Oh, Hermione, come on, it’s not exactly his fault if…” He sighed as his words trailed away. “No, okay, bugger that. It’s all his fault.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than usual. “But there’s no need to be angry at him for the whole trip, you know.” He grinned. “We can enjoy ourselves and spend a pleasant weekend between friends. It’s going to be like when we were younger… just without Ron.”

Hermione smiled back. “Yeah,” she agreed, “you’re right and—” She picked up a camera and waved it. “—we are going to show him exactly how we’ve enjoyed ourselves. I’m planning to document every single moment of this trip. He’ll think twice before doing something stupid again! Well, one can hope.”

Harry chuckled. “You can be mean, Hermione,” he murmured playfully.

She grinned. “I know.” She stuffed the camera into her incredibly neat trunk and closed it, the little locks catching as she pressed them down. “Thank you, Harry,” she finally said, when she looked up at him. Her smile was soft and delicate, “I know that you had plans with Ginny you really shouldn’t—”

Harry grimaced. “I knew that Shacklebolt’s second choice was Savage and I really couldn’t do that to Ron.”

She laughed at that, and smiled again. “I’m glad that you’re coming.”

“I’m happy too,” he replied, “I’ve never seen Venice.”

Hermione shrugged on a beige raincoat. “I didn’t check the forecast, did you?” she asked, fastening the belt on the front.

Harry stood up from the bed. “Sorry,” he replied, shaking his head. “Can I take your trunk downstairs in the meantime?”

“Don’t worry, I have it.” She checked her reflection in the mirror before turning towards the trunk.

“Don’t be silly, Hermione,” said Harry, as he took out his wand and waved it at the trunk. “_Locomotor Trunk._”

“Thanks,” said Hermione, rummaging through her pockets as she followed her brother-in-law, and the now-levitated trunk, down the stairs. “So the Portkey will activate in half an hour in my backyard.” She pulled out a piece of intricately-folded parchment. “We’ll arrive in Calle San Maurizio between the Hotel Gritti Palace and the Locanda Barbarigo. The Locanda Maschera Incantata is right between those two, we just have to knock three times on the door to enter.”

Harry flicked his wand and the trunk landed noiselessly next to his in the Weasleys’ sitting room. “It doesn’t seem too difficult,” said Harry, “just… what’s a _calle_ exactly?”

“A street, that’s what they call them in Venice,” explained Hermione with the air of someone who had read exhaustively on the subject. “Just in Venice, not the rest of Italy though. Isn’t that strange?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” He sat on the couch and looked out of the window as Hermione double-checked her list of ‘things to do before leaving’. “What’s the Portkey, by the way?”

“An old Chudley Canons cap,” she replied. “And before you ask, yes, Ron picked it out.” She sighed, putting the list away. “How was Lily today?” she asked, sitting on the armchair next to the couch.

“Better, actually, she’s recovering at an incredibly quick pace,” said Harry. “I think she might be out of the hospital by tomorrow evening.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry you won’t be there.” Hermione’s disquiet was perceptible in her voice.

“That’s all right,” he assured her, “she said that the first thing she wanted to do was to go to Diagon Alley and buy a toy for every day she had spent into St. Mungo’s. I’m sure Ginny can cope much better than I would with that.”

“I wonder what Ron will ask me for once he comes out of the hospital,” Hermione said with a laugh.

***  
  
Travelling through Portkeys was both incredibly uncomfortable and Harry’s most hated way of moving, like most modes of transportation that didn’t include a broomstick. But the trip had been prepared ages before and the Italian Ministry had been insistent about the rules for the arrival of the wizards and witches that were going to attend the meeting. Every arrival was scheduled with the precision of a Swiss watch, and no negotiation was allowed.

“That’s just because they directed the Portkeys to a street,” muttered Harry as Hermione knocked at the mask shop, “and they have to confound the passersby every half an hour to let wizards and witches arrive.” He sighed, dragging the trunks through the dusty door of the shop. “If they had made us arrive directly into the shop they would have—”

“Benvenuti alla Maschera Incantata,” said an old man when the door closed at their back. He was sitting on a stool near what had once been the counter of the shop, and gestured towards a door on the other side of the dusty room. A black, silky curtain raised before them and the man nodded to them.

“Grazie,” replied Hermione, articulating stiffly. She flashed Harry a smile when the man nodded, and walked up towards the door. Harry was quite sure she had understood only ‘Maschera Incantata’, like he did, but she seemed so confident that he wondered if she hadn’t actually taken an Italian course before the trip. That would be very Hermione-like.

On the other side of the threshold the view was breathtaking. No film made in Venice did justice to what appeared before their eyes, no illustration or picture — or moving picture for that matter — came close to what they were seeing.

The lobby of the locanda was not particularly big, but everything inside seemed to have been placed with extreme care and thought. Elaborately designed mirrors hung on the walls, with candelabra mounted right beneath them so that the candlelight reflected off them and illuminated the lobby with double intensity. The walls were decorated with frescos of the Carnival, and the slightly uneven floor shone with tiles encrusted with pieces of glass and gold. The red Venetian counter was decorated in gold and the curtains around the windows and doors were of a rich crimson colour, with ancient decorations embroidered with golden thread. In each corner there were two comfortable-looking armchairs and a small round coffee table, with Moresque decorations on every leg.

Walking through the curtain and into the locanda was like crossing a line that brought you back in time, to an age where everything that wasn’t beautiful wasn’t accepted.

“Sir, Madam?” called a voice from behind the counter. “May I help you?”

Both Harry and Hermione felt as if they’d been popped out of a Daydream charm as someone used their own language to address them. Behind the counter, a man who looked to be in his mid-forties was gazing at them. Probably trying to understand if they were there by mistake or if they actually had a reservation.

“Good morning,” said Hermione, as they walked up to the counter. “We have a reservation for a room.”

“Certainly, Madam,” replied the man, opening a huge book on the counter. “Your name please?”

“Weasley.”  
  
The man’s finger trailed down a long list of names until it reached a particular one and tapped on it. “Ah, yes, Weasley,” he said, turning to grab a key from the hangers and placing it on the bench. “Are you here for the convention?” he asked, picking up two forms from a drawer and two quills.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, we are.”

The man nodded back without raising his eyes. “You need to complete these registration forms, please,” he said, handing them the papers and the quills.

They didn’t ask much. Name, surname, birth date, nationality. Nothing too strange.  
  
“Thank you,” said the man once they had handed the forms back to him. “And here you are,” he handed them two bundles of papers. “Here is a map of the city, showing directions to return to the Maschera Incantata and how to get to the convention site, as well as the program schedule. We’ve also included a list of nearby restaurants and bars that cater to wizards and those for Muggles as well.” He tapped the other list. “If you need anything else, we are here twenty-four hours a day,” he said as he gave them a pleasant smile.

“Thank you,” replied Hermione, smiling back. “Actually, we do have a bit of a dilemma just at the moment. You see, this is not Mr Weasley.” She gestured to Harry who smiled as well and nodded in agreement.

The man looked confused for a minute, his eyes shifting from Hermione to Harry and then back to Hermione. Then his eyebrow raised and he nodded. “You don’t have to worry, Madam,” he said, his voice low, “I can assure you, nothing of what happens in the Maschera Incantata leaves those walls.”

Hermione’s eyes widened a little as she blushed and shook her head frantically. “Oh, no, no, no,” she said hurriedly, “you have it all wrong.” She glared at Harry when he chuckled. “My husband couldn’t make it,” she explained, “and we would be grateful if you could change our booking from a double room to two singles.”

The man’s expression was apologetic, but he grimaced as if he would have preferred them to have a secret affair rather than hear their request. “I’m so sorry,” he replied, “normally we would be able to accommodate you, but the locanda is full right now. We have guests from all over the world here for the convention.”

“And nobody wants a double?” asked Hermione hopefully.

“I’m afraid not, Madam,” replied the man, but he checked the register from where he had gotten their names. “But you can exchange your room for two singles on Saturday evening, when most of our guests will have gone.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, her face the portrait of desperation.

“Nothing on Friday evening?” asked Harry tentatively.

The man shook his head forcefully. “I’m sorry, Sir, but the guests are staying for the Masquerade.”

“The Masquerade?” Harry’s nose wrinkled involuntarily.

“Yes, a Costume Ball organized at the end of the convention,” he nodded towards the papers Harry held in his hands, “it’s all in the pamphlet.” The man raised his eyes from them and greeted two other guests who entered looking as dazed as Harry and Hermione had been a moment before.

“Matteo, porta I bagagli dei signori nella stanza 214,” he ordered to a young, blond haired boy who had appeared on the threshold at his call.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your staying in Venice,” he finally said to Hermione and Harry, holding the key for them. “The first boat to the convention leaves in half an hour. If you want to walk there you can check your directions on the map.”

Hermione smiled weakly as she grabbed the key from the man. “Thank you,” she said, not bothering at all with her Italian.

Harry’s hand landed warmly and comfortingly on her shoulder as he gently led her away from the front desk and towards the young boy who had levitated the trunks in front of him and was now patiently waiting for them to follow.

“This way, please,” he said with a thick Italian accent, gesturing with a small hand. He was wearing a green suit, clean and perfectly fitting around his body. He led them in a lift completely covered in mirrors, where everywhere they looked they could clearly see their awkward glances. The lift stopped at the second floor and opened on a long, dark and sumptuous corridor.

The boy led them down the corridor and stopped when he was in front of a door that sported the number 214 on it. He placed the trunks on the floor noiselessly and stretched a hand towards Hermione. “The key, please,” he said politely.

Hermione handed him the key and he opened the door. He levitated the trunks again and entered, followed closely by Harry and Hermione.

“Merlin,” breathed Harry as they stepped inside.

The young boy smiled awkwardly. “I hope you’ll be enjoying your staying here,” he said as if it was a sentence that he had learned by heart. He bowed slightly as they thanked him as he left them standing there with those bewildered expressions on their faces. As he closed the door behind him they heard him mutter a word that sounded like _stregati_, but he disappeared before they could ask what that meant. Harry started to walk towards the window. “Who booked this room?” he asked, impressed.

Their room wasn’t very big, but it was everything else one would expect from a chamber in Venice. The four-poster bed was covered with pillows and a rich red cover that matched the curtains around it, as well as the armchairs and the window curtains. On one side of the bed there was a golden vanity with an oval mirror on the front. On the opposite wall was a small table with a bowl of Floo Powder and a welcome card on it. There were ornate mirrors hung on every wall. Opposite the bed there was a small fireplace and two armchairs and a table, richly decorated just like the ones in the lobby. Next to them an ancient wardrobe and next to it a door led to the en-suite bathroom. The bathroom was huge and with more devices than Harry had actually ever seen: a bathtub, a shower, a sink, and a toilet with another smaller commode next to it that Hermione explained was a bidet. Near the table there was a three-arc-window that opened onto a tiny balcony, and when they stepped out they saw that it overlooked the Grand Canal. Looking to their right they could see the Academia Bridge, and to the left was the Church of the Salute. Immediately before them was Ca’ Venier de Leoni with a large banner advertising the presence of the ‘Peggy Guggenheim Collection.’

Harry shook his head in amazement as they stepped back into the room. “Who reserved our room?” repeated Harry as he closed the window at his back.

Hermione raised her head from her trunk that she had immediately begun to unpack. “Shacklebolt,” she replied weakly. “I guess he did it because Ron and I were going to stay for the weekend.” She blushed slightly. “I don’t know what he thought we would do…”

Harry grinned and sat on the bed. “What every couple does in Venice, I guess,” he said, lying down with his legs swinging over the edge. As his gaze met the ceiling he gave a small cough and said, “Uh, Hermione…”

“What?” she asked, placing a pile of jeans inside the ancient wardrobe.

“You have to see this,” he replied quietly.

She turned and saw his gaping expression. Hermione frowned slightly as she sat on the other side of the bed and lay down next to him, her head next to his chest. “Oh… my,” she said weakly.

Directly above the bed a huge mirror was hung on the ceiling, its edges slightly tarnished and its beautiful frame glinting in the morning light.

“Honestly, people can be so kinky,” murmured Hermione while a faint blush covered her cheeks.

Harry grinned at her through the mirror. “Yeah, and you know what?” he asked, sitting up and stretching his hand towards Hermione’s camera on the table. He lay down again. “Your little report for Ron starts right now,” he said, fumbling around the camera. “Smile.” He brought the device in front of his eyes and pointed it to the mirror. “On a second thought, wave too,” he added.

“Honestly,” said Hermione weakly, but she smiled and waved, even if a bit awkwardly.

Harry took pictures of every single piece of furniture in the chamber, then he opened the window and started to immortalize every piece of Venice visible from their room. Hermione went to the bathroom to change into the tightly fitted robes and when she walked out again she was ready to go.

“Ron’s going to be so mad when we’ll show him the pictures,” he said cheerfully, taking one of Hermione as well.

“I know,” she replied, smiling gently. “I think we should go now, Harry, the traghetto leaves in five minutes, it says,” she added, skimming through the convention timetable.

“Sure,” replied Harry, putting the camera down. “What’s today’s program?”

Hermione checked her hair and light make-up in one of the many mirrors before answering. “The convention starts at ten, it opens with the welcome speech of the Italian Minister, then there are the American representatives, who are going to talk about their new research, and then the Chinese representative will speak as well. We have a break of about an hour and a half for lunch and then we start again with the Italian, German and Spanish representatives speaking. We should end at six in the evening.”

Harry sighed. “This sounds long,” he complained, opening the door and holding it open for Hermione. “I hope nobody will notice if I fall asleep.” He closed the door at their back and pocketed the key.

“Now you sound exactly like Ron,” smiled Hermione, shaking her head.

***  
  
The traghetto stop was right outside the second entrance, the same one that gave direct access to the fondamenta on the Grand Canal. A locanda employee was helping some old, dark-skinned women to climb on the black, gondola-like boat that would bring them on the other side of the Canal.

The trip to the other side was smooth and quick, even if some water-buses and Muggle gondolas crossed their path every now and then.

“We have to turn right, go straight until we find a bridge, cross it and we have to knock on the last door on the right, the name is Ca’ Dario,” said Hermione as Harry helped her getting off the boat.

“Or we can follow the crowd,” suggested Harry, nodding at the people.

“Yes, that too,” she replied, following Harry’s gaze.

It turned out that Ca’ Dario was only a couple of buildings before the Guggenheim Collection, which meant that they would be able to see it from their window at the locanda. It was an old palace, constantly on the market because of the legends that surrounded it. The Italian Wizarding community hadn’t disguised it, nor had they encouraged rumours of poltergeist or ghosts to keep the Muggles away like England did. Italian Wizards had found a rather more Italian method to keep Muggles from that palazzo: since its construction in the fifteenth century a squad of Ministry employees had been employed to hex the owners of the house into wasting large amounts of money on the house and then committing suicide. Now the house had gained the reputation of bringing bad luck to whoever bought it, something that would have been found extremely odd in every other country, but not in Italy.

The interiors of the old palazzo were beautiful and huge. Several incredibly intricate chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling, while the windows overlooked the Grand Canal from the opposite side of the Locanda Maschera Incantata. People were crowding around the windows to have a good look at the breathtaking view.

“This is beautiful,” murmured Hermione, walking in her ballet flats on the uneven floor. She had left her heels at home since she didn’t want to embarrass Harry by towering over him. She could wear heels with Ron and still be far too short to reach his shoulders, but Harry was another story.

“It is, really,” replied Harry. “How are we supposed to concentrate on what they say if there’re all these things to look at?”

“Mr and Mrs Weasley?” called a high-pitched voice at their back.

They turned to see a young, dark-haired witch with gentle eyes hurrying towards them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch you at the entrance. The Indian representatives were complaining about the smelly water in the canals.” She snorted. “I mean we’re in Venice, aren’t we?” She looked at them as if she was waiting for their assent.

“Right,” confirmed Harry, smiling softly.

“Exactly,” she replied, “here are your badges.” She handed them a couple of round badges on which the Union Jack alternately flashed with the names of Hermione Weasley and Ron Weasley. “And the detailed program of the convention.” She smiled. “I’ll be at the back of the room. My name’s Lisa.” She pointed to a badge on her own chest which flashed to “Convention Liason”.

“Thank you, but—” started Hermione trying to explain about Harry-not-being-Ron even as she pinned her badge on the front of her dress, but the girl was already hurrying away towards a blond wizard who was peering around looking lost.

Hermione gave Harry an apologetic look, but he just shrugged and smiled. “Shall we sit?” he said, gesturing towards the armchairs that had been placed to face the windows.

“Sure,” replied Hermione, heading for an armchair on the first row. She sat down and smiled. “So comfy,” she murmured, her eyes closed.

Harry sat down next to her. “Hmm, yeah,” he replied in bliss, “They really do want me to fall asleep.” He looked around, then pouted at Hermione. “You sat us in the first row? Come on, Hermione.”

Hermione shot him an amused glance. “I’m not moving,” she said firmly, taking a quill and a parchment from her bag. “This convention is very important.”

He opened his mouth to reply but before he could actually form a proper argument, a short, plump wizard with lots of dark hair and small black eyes appeared in front of the red footrest before them and brought his wand to his throat, murmuring “_Sonorus_”. He spoke in broken English, but his tone of authority was enough to bring all eyes on him.

He identified himself as Gerardo Facchini, the Italian Minister for Magic. He asked them to please find a place to sit so that they could start. While the delegates found their seats he pointed out where the restrooms were located, and that a buffet lunch would be served at thirteen. Then, when everyone was finally seated, he introduced the first set of speakers.

***  
  
“You know what’s strange?” asked Harry, while chewing on a prosciutto and mozzarella cheese sandwich. “I enjoyed the presentation by the Italian Ministry more than the one by the American’s representatives.” He swallowed. “As for the Chinese representatives, I didn’t get a word they were saying.”

Hermione sipped from a glass of Bellini. “I think their way of viewing the laws is a bit too specific for us,” she replied thoughtfully. “I’m sure they’ll do a great job in China, but here in Western society you can’t just—”

“Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley!”

Hermione, to Harry’s great relief, was prevented from having to explain what the Chinese authority should or shouldn’t do and turned to look at the short, quite fat, middle-aged woman who was hurrying towards her.

Hermione’s lips broadened in a smile. “Mrs Bebengut,” she exclaimed. “What a pleasure.”

The woman stood on tiptoes to kiss Hermione on her cheeks, three times. She grabbed Hermione’s hand and stepped back to look at her dress and smiled naughtily. “Oh, Mrs Weasley, what are you planning to do ‘ere in Venice with your wicked ‘us—” Her words caught in her throat as she looked at Harry. “Y-you’ve changed your ‘usband,” she babbled, narrowing her eyes to read Harry’s badge. “Mr Weasley? Is zat you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “What ‘appened to you?”

Hermione came to stand next to Harry, a hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm. “Oh no, Mrs Bebengut,” she said, smiling, “this is not my husband. Mr Weasley is at the Hospital right now. This is Harry Potter, Head Auror for the British Ministry of Magic.” Hermione patted her hand on his arm. “He’s also my brother-in-law.”

Mrs Bebengut nodded as a relieved smile appeared on her face. “Mr Potter.” She raised her plump hand in a way that didn’t seem to prelude a shake.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who nodded slightly towards the hand, her eyes wide, and pursued her lips as if to kiss him. Harry understood immediately and brought the hand to his lips. “Enchanted,” he said, smiling.

Mrs Bebengut smiled contentedly. “So, what do you zink?” she asked to Hermione, taking a glass of champagne from a nearby table.

“About the laws in China?” asked Hermione, sighing. “I was just telling Harry that—”

“Oh not zat, my dear girl,” chimed the woman, waving a hand in front of her. “About Venise.” She opened her arms. “In France we ‘ave many wonderful places, but nothing like Venise.” She raised her head as if to whisper into her ear. “You know what zey say?” she murmured. “Zat once you place your foot in Venise you’re _stregati_ by zee city.”

“_Stregati_?” asked Harry, snatching another sandwich from the platter. That sounded like what that boy had said in their room.

“It means bewitched,” explained Mrs Bebengut with a sly expression. “And I zink it’s a very good word to describe this city.” She fluttered her eyelashes to him. “I don’t know if you’ve already felt it, but everything here is different. Your feelings become stronger, your sensations multiply… ‘ave you tried the food ‘ere yet? I mean, of course we are in Italy and the food is simply _unique_, but ‘ere in Venise… _Oh mon Dieu_!”

Hermione smiled awkwardly at Harry over the head of the lovely, but slightly passionate French woman.

“And zee arts, naturally,” she continued, “you ‘ave to see St. Mark’s Square when you can.”

“It’s on our list for this weekend,” Hermione assured her.

The witch threw herself in a discussion about the weekend, the fact that she had asked her husband to join her there, but that he had refused.

“Why would he do such a thing?” asked Harry surprised. He couldn’t see any reason at all why someone wouldn’t want to come to Venice.

Mrs Bebengut beamed at him for having asked such a question. “’e said zat ‘e didn’t want to bring ‘ome zee same souvenir we did every other time we came here,” she said, winking.

Harry looked so puzzled the woman felt the urge to continue. “Every time we arrived ‘ere we were two, every time we left we were three,” she said, patting her stomach.

“Oh,” was all Harry could say.

***  
  
The afternoon session of the meeting was quite interesting. The Italian and Spanish representatives had come out with some very funny ideas about law and order, none of which were quite practical though, especially when they talked about sending the children of wizard criminals to Muggle schools as punishment for their fathers’ guiltiness.

The meeting, as Harry had predicted, finished around five and everybody seemed to be more than pleased to have a long evening in front of them. Everyone’s plan seemed to be find a nice restaurant for dinner, then take a walk through the narrow streets of Venice, before finally going back to their sumptuous rooms for a lovely night between the silky sheets of their beds.

“I think this one sounds nice, Hermione,” Harry said from his seat on the bed. “Ristorante La Piscina. It doesn’t seem too far either.”

The door of the bathroom opened and a subtle cloud of steam invaded the room. Hermione emerged with a towel around her body, secured with a knot on her right breast, and another in her hand to dry her curly hair. She smiled at Harry and walked barefoot to the bed, where she sat next to him. “You didn’t say that that shower was so relaxing,” she said, stretching her arms above her head.

Harry glanced at her and stiffened slightly. She seemed still in her twenties when she didn’t wear any make-up, her hair fell around her face in a childlike way and her bottom lip was tormented by her perfectly white teeth as she peered at the list in Harry’s lap. “You’re in a towel,” he said, without even noticing that he was actually saying something.

Hermione raised her eyes on her brother-in-law, her glance slightly puzzled as she looked at him. “Yes,” she replied slowly, “just like every year when we go to the beach together.”

Harry swallowed. “Yeah, sure,” he murmured, “I meant that you are leaking on the bed.”

“Am I?” she asked, standing up and looking at the cover. “Merlin, I hope I haven’t ruined it.” She hurried into the bathroom and closed the door at her back. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

A minute wasn’t exactly what it took her, but when she got out of the bathroom Harry couldn’t find anything to say to complain. Her midnight blue dress was gorgeous and finally Harry had the chance to see how perfectly it wrapped around Hermione's body. It had a long, wide sleeve on the right and not even a strap on the left shoulder, it went down to her thigh and almost reached her knee on the right before descending to her ankle on the other side. Her hair was shiny and she had secured a white, satin ribbon on her head to keep her curls away from her face. She looked gorgeous. “I’m sorry it took me so long,” she said, walking hastily towards the wardrobe. “This hair of mine… I swear if Rose has the same problems that I do I’m going to use magic on her.” She grabbed a peach coloured sweater and a bag of a very similar colour, before sliding into a pair of small sandals.

She turned to look at Harry and smiled awkwardly. “Did you fall asleep waiting for me?” she asked softly.

Harry’s lips parted a little and he found his mouth absolutely dry. “No,” he answered stiffly. He walked towards the table and grabbed the camera. “Ron is going to be so mad,” he said, taking a few pictures of her as she smiled.

“I want one with you, too, Harry,” she said, stretching a hand towards him.

“Sure,” murmured Harry. He joined her near in front of the window, his arm sliding around her shoulders as she rested hers around his waist. She leaned her head on his arm and smiled towards the camera that Harry held high in front of them.

She smelled good, Harry couldn’t help noticing that. What had that crazy, French woman said? _Your sensations multiply…_ But that was just stupid, really. It was that nice soap they had put in the bathroom. He had used it too, who was to say that it wasn’t him the one who smelled good?

“Shall we go?” asked Hermione, detaching slowly from him to pick up her bag.  
  
Harry lowered the camera and looked at her. “Sure,” he grinned.

The walk to the Ristorante La Piscina was easy, they simply had to follow the map. It wasn’t far, and they preferred to walk instead of taking the traghetto, to finally catch a real glimpse of the city. The streets were full of tourists, Muggle and magical, and they seemed to stop at every restaurant on the way to read the menus which were translated in five languages.

They followed the signs towards the Academia Bridge and finally got on the other side of the Canal. From there it took them only five more minutes to get to the Ristorante La Piscina. They finally reached the restaurant and decided that it was worth the walk. It was a beautifully decorated, cosy restaurant, with a few tables on the inside, a few more located on the street in front of the main door and many more on a terrace which was built on the Giudecca Canal, just across the street. On the other side of the Canal, which was at least five times wider than the Grand Canal, was the Isle of the Giudecca, with its beautiful lights and the huge Hilton Hotel at the very far end.

“Shall we eat outside?” asked Harry. “Or are you going to be cold?”

“I’ll be fine if you order some wine,” replied Hermione. “I mean, it warms you up, doesn’t it?” she added quietly.

Harry chuckled. “It does.”

Dinner was pleasant. The food and the wine were delicious, the view breathtaking, the conversation entertaining. Harry complimented himself for that last part, having started out with the phrase “Let’s have a little bet, Hermione. If you manage not to talk about work for the whole evening, I’ll buy dinner.” It had been one of his best ideas ever.

“I can barely wait to see St Mark’s Square,” chimed Hermione, sipping from her glass. “And the Magical _sestier_ of the city. They said it’s full of magic masks shops.”

“Really?” asked Harry, swallowing his bite of pasta. “Speaking of masks, what are we going to do for the Masquerade?”

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we are going, naturally, it’s part of the convention,” Harry sighed. “Why didn’t I remember to bring my Dracula’s costume with me?”

Hermione’s eyes grazed over his face as if to be sure that he was serious, before bursting into a fit of laughter that almost chocked her. “Harry,” she coughed out, “you’ve not read the program at all, have you?”

“That’s what I brought you along for,” he replied.

Hermione swallowed a laugh. “Well, it says that we can rent our costumes at the first floor of the Maschera Incantata.” She smiled. “But I doubt they’ll have anything like a vampire costume.”

“Okay, first of all it was a Dracula costume, not some random vampire,” replied Harry, “and second, why would that be?”

Hermione brought a piece of her grilled sole to her mouth. “Because we are in Venice,” she grinned.

Harry seemed to find that answer satisfying enough to shut up, not that he could have talked anyway because at that moment a short man with dark skin and even darker hair and eyes walked up to them with a bunch of roses.

Hermione cleaned her mouth in her napkin and shook her head. “Oh no, no,” she said, smiling, “we are not together.” She gestured from her to Harry.

“Oh come on, Hermione,” said Harry, waving a hand, “choose one. I mean it’s just a rose.”

“Harry, it’s all right, really…”

“I said choose a rose, Hermione,” he insisted, meeting her eyes and trying hard not to sound too bossy.

Hermione stuck out her tongue to him in a playful way, and raised her eyebrows to the man who was still offering the flowers to her. “I’ll take this one,” she said, picking up one crimson rose.

Harry paid for it and the man replied with a profuse number of thank you’s and bows.

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured, smelling the rose, “you shouldn’t have done it, though.”

Harry snorted as he put his wallet away. “We are in Venice, come on,” he said, “and it’s only a rose.”

The dessert was mouth-watering just as dinner had been, but when they finally stood up they found themselves so full it was a wonder they haven’t dozed off at the table. “Shall we walk back to the locanda?” asked Hermione, wearing her jumper. “I mean, I could do with some movement.”

“Sure,” replied Harry. “We can walk this way, we haven’t seen this part of the city yet.”

Hermione nodded and followed him on the street that skirted the Giudecca Canal. The lights on the Isle of Giudecca were all lit now, and they looked like glow-worms from that distance. A full moon (which wouldn’t have been appreciated by Professor Lupin, Harry thought) was shining above a church, its reflection bright in the dark water of the Canal.

They crossed a bridge and walked by a snogging couple. The man was pressing his companion so forcefully into the bridge wall that Harry wondered how she hadn’t complained yet. He looked at Hermione to smile in amusement, but she had lowered her eyes, fidgeting the rose in her hands.

“So… still angry with Ron for not being here?” he asked stiffly as they left the couple behind.

Hermione looked at him and seemed to force out a smile. “No, I’m fine,” she murmured.  
  
“Are you sure?”

Hermione sighed. “No. I’m still angry,” she admitted. “I mean, I’m having a wonderful time with you, Harry, really.” She smiled genuinely now. “But if Ron were here we wouldn’t have to waste this moon, this view, this magic atmosphere…” She stopped and shook her head as if to send that thought away.

Harry looked at her, fighting the feeling that was rising in his chest. _Stregati._ That was the only word he could come up with as his eyes caressed her features, a spontaneous idea jumping into his head. “Blimey, Hermione, we don’t have to waste this,” he said softly.

Hermione looked up at him, puzzled. “What?” she whispered.

Harry cupped her cheek and smiled. “Come on, I’ll kiss you,” he said evenly.

She backed away, freeing herself from his hand, an amused smile on her lips. “You don’t have to, Harry,” she said, “really, I think I can survive.”

“Oh, no, come on,” he said, coming closer to her, “you wanted a romantic evening and you’ll have a romantic evening.”

Hermione cocked her head and sighed. “And if I wanted a million Galleons?”

“Isn’t a kiss from Harry Potter worth a million Galleons?” he countered playfully.

Hermione bit her bottom lip to prevent a giggle. “All right, fine, give me my romantic kiss in the moonlight, Harry,” she said in a tone that was everything but solemn.

Harry rolled his eyes. “This is serious, I can’t concentrate if you laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing!” she protested, even as a smile tugged at her lips.

“You’re laughing in here.” He tapped her forehead.

Hermione shook her head, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “You say that because you don’t want to kiss me,” she said, a playful challenge in her voice.

“Oh, you really think that?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Hermione nodded, amused.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He walked up to her and grabbed her upper arm with a hand, while his other went to her back and pulled her slightly forward. “But I’m going to kiss you, Hermione Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes lowered to his lips and then back to his half-opened eyes. “It’s Weasley,” she managed to breath before Harry’s lips covered hers.

Her breath smelled of wine and chocolate; her lips were soft as his tongue tasted them. He brought the hand that he had placed on her arm down on her back with the other one, he clasped them together and pulled her forward to meet his hips. She let out a soft moan when his thumbs started to caress her spine and she slid her arms around his neck, her fingers lacing through his hair, bringing him closer to deepen the kiss.

They stayed pressed together, for seconds, minutes or hours it seemed, until a group of teenagers walked past them, their loud laughing and chattering breaking up the magic moment. Hermione leaned back her head to look at him, her eyes troubled.

Only when she moved in his arms did Harry realize he was still holding her. He gently released her, and she moved to take a step back from him. Harry saw the look in her eyes, and his head seemed to clear, realizing what he had just done.

“I… I think we should get back,” she murmured, her eyes on the ground, her hands clasping the rose as if life depended on that. “We have to get up early tomorrow.” And without waiting for his reply, she hurried away, leaving him to slowly follow.

***  
  
Harry awoke when something soft tickled his face. He tried to bring his hand to scratch his nose, but somehow he found he couldn’t do it. His eyes were still heavy with sleep as he forced them open. The night before seemed so distant now. Him, Hermione, Venice, the dinner, the kiss. Was it just a blurred dream or had that really happened? 

The answer was there next to him. The thing that tickled his nose was his sister-in-law’s erratic hair, her head was what held his arm to the bed, and he could feel that his fingers were already numb.

She was so close. Harry could hear her soft breath. She had her feet uncomfortably dug in his calves, likely trying to find a source of warmth in the coldness of the first hours of the morning without even noticing that she was mercilessly pushing him towards the edge of the bed.

She had been so silent and reserved the night before when they had gotten back to the locanda, her only words asking if it was okay for him to sleep on the side facing the window and then she had wished him goodnight and lay down as far from him as she could get on the bed, curled up in a ball. It had taken ages for Harry to fall asleep, his mind filled with thoughts that he shouldn’t have had about his best friend, his head dizzy for her scent.

Harry stretched out his free hand to brush her features. Her skin was smooth and warm under his fingertips, her nose cooler on the tip. He moved away his hand and looked closely at her. Her arms were folded against her chest, her body was curved as if she was trying to reach his chest and brush her arms towards him.

He stretched an arm behind his back, blindly searching for his glasses and his watch on the bedside table. It was almost seven o’clock on a cold Friday morning in Venice, and in a couple of hours they were supposed to attend the second and last part of the meeting. Hermione would wake up soon, and get ready for the convention. He sighed. If she opened her eyes and saw how close they were she would surely feel even more awkward than the night before.

Harry rolled towards her and brought his free arm towards her, resisting the urge to hug her. His hand went to her neck as he gently raised her from his forearm. He slid it from under her and lowered her head back on the pillow. He rolled back and sat up; placing his feet on the floor, he walked towards the window and braced himself. The view was obscured by some kind of light fog, which would likely disappear in a few hours, and the city seemed almost more fascinating with that mist around its ancient palazzos.

He turned towards the armchairs and decided that he had not yet tried how comfy they were. He sat there quietly, sinking in the warm, soft stuffing, until Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and she looked around with her eyes still fogged with sleep.

Harry smiled from the armchair, the program of the convention in his lap. “Good morning,” he said.

Hermione smiled awkwardly. “Good morning,” she replied. She brought a hand to her head to automatically smoothe her mane of curls. She straightened her back, her hands pushing her from the bed, then she looked around as if she had just realized something. “Oh, Harry,” she said with mortification, “I… did I push you off the bed?”

Harry smiled softly. “Not exactly,” he replied, “you just pushed me towards the edge.”

Hermione’s hand went to her face as she rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “Ron’s used to having me wrapped myself around him during the night to get warm.” She looked at him, her cheeks flushed. “I… I didn’t wrap myself around you, did I?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

Hermione nodded, relieved. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Can I use the bathroom first?” she asked, standing up and stretching her arms above her head.

“Sure. It’s almost eight, we should get ready and have breakfast before we leave for the convention,” he replied softly.

Hermione headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

***  
  
Once again, it had taken her longer than a minute to get ready, but when she was all set to leave Harry didn’t complain about the time. _Ron wouldn’t as well,_ she thought, for he would have taken even longer than her.

It had taken her quite a while to decide what to wear. She couldn’t put on the same dress she had the day before, Italian women notice those kind of things and she would pass for someone who didn’t care about her appearance. That wasn’t the case, so when she opened the bathroom door, she was wearing the same elegant Wizarding robe that she had been wearing before she had changed for the convention the day before.

“Shall we go and have breakfast?” she asked, picking up her bag.

“Sure.”  
  
Breakfast was good. In the locanda they had a choice of the international breakfast or the Italian one. Both of them tried the Italian one, cappuccino and brioche, which was how most of the people in Italy started their day. They were baffled by the little quantity of cappuccino they were given at first, but their amazement was replaced by wonder when the rich aroma filled their nostrils.

“We should take some of this home,” said Hermione, sipping from her mug.

“Definitely,” replied Harry, grabbing a bite from his brioche. “Tomorrow we are off to some shopping after the sightseeing thing, right?”

“Naturally,” she smiled, “I also have to buy something to Lily.”

Harry frowned. “Lily? You don’t have to worry about that Hermione. I’ll buy her something.”

Hermione shook her head. “I told her to keep an eye on Ron while they are in the hospital, and that if she did it, I would bring her something from Venice.”

Harry smiled softly. “If you promised her a present, she’s surely giving Ron a hard time.”

“I hope so,” Hermione grinned back. “So, talking about something more serious, should we have a look at the program today?”

“Yeah, what’s awaiting us?”

“The Italian Minister is opening the day again with another speech, then we have the Ghanaian representatives who are going to talk about the history of the laws in their country, then the Japanese and the Luxembourgers are going to have a short debate right before lunch. We have lunch just like yesterday and then there are the Russians and the Colombians who are going to talk briefly. Today we should finish earlier than yesterday and they’ll give us some time to choose our costumes for the party this evening.”

Harry groaned. “What if someone doesn’t want to dress up?”

Hermione’s eyes flew to him. “You don’t want to dress for the party?” she asked confused.

Harry leaned against the back of the chair. “It’s just… come on, Hermione it’s not Halloween. This is going to be stupid, and if I have to get all dressed up in tights and wear a wig—”

“Harry,” she said, practically, “first of all, you won’t look stupid because everybody there will be dressed just like you. Secondly, we’ll be wearing masks, so nobody will ever know that it’s you.” She smiled. “Apart from me.”

Harry groaned again, but Hermione only found his reaction amusing.

“Shall we go?” she asked gently. “I don’t want to be late.”

“Hermione, even if we are late, I’m sure we’ll be there before the Italians.” 

***  
  
The morning went on smoothly, somehow they had already gotten used to the way the meetings proceeded. The opening speech, the representatives, the lunch with some finger food and lots of chatting from Mrs Bebengut, who knew basically everything about everyone in that convention, and then the afternoon with some other speeches, some other discussions and some other chatting between the rows.

It was only when the Italian Minister announced that the convention was nearing its ending that the room went completely quiet. 

“It has been a pleasure for my country to host this convention this year,” he said in his thick accent, “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves in Venezia so far, and I hope that some of you are staying for the weekend to have a better look around.” He smiled broadly. “I’ll do my concluding speech this evening at the Masquerade. I hope everybody is coming. For those of you who are staying at the Maschera Incantata, we’ve prepared a little atelier at the ground floor where you can find a costume which will fit you. The costumes are for rent and for sale, and in both cases they come with a specially enchanted mask, hair, and make-up kit.” He let out a small chuckle. “I know that some of you aren’t too keen to get dressed for a Masked Ball, but I can assure you, it’s going to be great fun!” He nodded. “The ball will take place here at eight. Please join us.”

A cascade of applauses followed the speech, with some appearing more convinced than others. Especially the Chinese representatives didn’t look too eager to have to dress up for a ball.

“This is going to be fun,” said Hermione, stuffing her notes in her bag. 

Harry groaned. “If you say so.”

Hermione turned to look at him and a smile curled her lips. “Come on, Harry,” she encouraged him, “we’ll have fun, and you’ll be masked so nobody will know that it’s you in the red tights.”

Harry grimaced. “That’s not funny, Hermione,” he grunted said, “and no pictures to show to Ron this time!”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t wait to take a picture of you while you’re dancing with Mrs Bebengut,” she giggled, heading towards the door with the crowd.

“Oh yes, now I can see why Ron married you,” he groaned, “you two share the same sense of humour.”

“I’m not joking,” she replied evenly.

Harry shot her a glare and she giggled, before they both started to laugh at their childish behaviour.

***  
  
“I’m not going to wear something like this, Hermione,” said Harry indignantly, showing her a Casanova-style costume.

The ground floor of the locanda had been transformed into a huge costume shop where all the international representatives, and some curious tourists, were wandering between the rows of clothes. 

Hermione raised her eyes from the beautiful dress she was examining and looked at him. “Why not, Harry?” she asked gently. “It looks fine to me.”

“Hermione, it’s full of laces and ribbons,” he complained, “I’ll look like Ron at the Yule Ball.”

Hermione smiled at the memory. “Don’t be silly,” she replied, “the Yule Ball wasn’t a masked ball, Harry. You’ll look perfectly fine in that. Even if…”

“Yes?”

“I would find something with some gold in it, it’s more traditional,” she finished, eyeing the black robe Harry had picked up. “Yes, golden embroideries on red material…”

Harry sighed. “Why don’t we go out, just the two of us, like yesterday evening? We can try another restaurant, maybe on the Grand Canal or near the Rialto Bridge, or even St. Mark’s Square if you want to—”

“Here,” said Hermione, holding a costume out to him. “What do you think about this?”

Harry took it and sighed. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said?”

Hermione bit her bottom lip. “Oh, were you saying something, Harry?”

“All right then, never mind,” he grunted, “this will do. Have you found yours?”

Hermione shot him a glare. “You have to try it on and see if it fits you,” she explained, “you can’t just take it.” She turned her back to him and started to look at the clothes once again. “And I still need some time to look for mine. There are so many costumes and they are all so wonderful.”

She heard Harry sighing behind her back, but she just smiled and kept on looking for something she liked for herself. There were so many dresses she couldn’t believe she would have to choose just one. They were all gorgeous, silky and smooth under her fingertips, with tight corsets, long, full skirts and lace around the neckline and at the end of the sleeves. They looked terribly uncomfortable too.

There was a wide range of colours from which she could choose. She would have found it depressing if she were there with Ron, since the only colour she could wear with him was blue, but now she was almost annoyed by the variety, for she really couldn’t make up her mind.

“Since your husband chose the classic red suit, Madam,” said a voice at her back, “may I suggest you to get the one that matches it?”

Hermione turned to find herself face to face with a short girl with red hair who was smiling warmly. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help noticing you picking out the costume for your husband,” she grinned, “that’s what I always do for my boyfriend. And if you want to match him tonight, we have a wonderful dress that I think will fit you just fine.” She cocked her head to have a better look at Hermione’s body. “Yes, do you want to see it?”

Hermione smiled. “Sure,” she replied, following the girl, “but you see, he’s not my husband.”

The girl turned to look at her and smiled. “Your boyfriend, I’m sorry,” she apologized, stopping in front of a dress. “Here, isn’t this wonderful? I think it’s one of the best ones they gave us for the evening. Naturally there were some which were even better, but they have been already taken, by the French representatives, I think. You know how they are with fashion and stuff, almost worse than we Italians are.” She gave a little laugh and handed the dress to Hermione. “Do you want to try it?”

Hermione smiled as she took the dress. It was gorgeous, the most beautiful she had seen so far, and yes, it matched Harry’s. It was red and gold with antique lace all over the front and the sleeves. The skirt was long, maybe a bit too long for her; she wondered if she would stumbled over its hem.

“The dressing room is this way.” The girl gestured towards a curtained door, and smiled encouragingly to Hermione, who walked through the curtain and found herself in a small room.

“Let me know if it fits you.” The girl’s voice came from outside.

Hermione pulled out her wand and took a deep breath. With a wave of her wand the dress and the outfit she had on traded places in the blink of an eye. She gasped as she tried to take a breath with the dress on. Uncomfortable wasn’t the word for it, the corset was actually torturing her by restricting her breathing. Still, the dress looked simply perfect. If she could only go without breathing for the whole night, then it would have been the right dress.

“Too tight, right?” asked the girl from behind the curtain. “That’s normal, it’s a corset. Usually these dresses come with a charm that makes them more comfortable. So, you don’t have to worry if you’re feeling like you can’t breathe…”

“I _can’t_ breathe,” said Hermione, panting. “I’m going to change back into my clothes.” She waved her wand again and she was back in her regular clothes. “I hope it’s a very powerful spell,” she gasped as she walked out of the dressing room.

The girl smiled reassuringly. “Nobody ever complained so far.”

Hermione bit her bottom lip. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “I’ll take this one.”

She was quickly led towards a counter where she was given the make-up spell, the enchanted mask and the charm for adding some comfort to the dress. “Are you going to buy it or just rent it for the night?”

“Just rent it,” she answered, eyeing the price warily.

The girl smiled and placed the dress in a hanging bag before giving it back to her. “Here you are, Madam. The party will start at eight, a gondola will take you there.”

Hermione gathered her purchases and turned to look for Harry. He was nowhere to be found. Figuring that he must have already headed for their bedroom, she chuckled at the thought of him in a Sixteenth Century robe as she climbed up the stairs to get to their bedroom with the dress and the charms in her hands.

Once she opened the door of the bedroom, it was obvious that Harry had been there even if he wasn’t in sight. His clothes were on the bed and his robes were piled untidily on one of the armchairs. The shower was running and there was a trickle of steam coming from under the door.

She sat on the bed and kicked her shoes away, waiting patiently for the bathroom to be free. It didn’t take long and soon Harry was walking into the bedroom with a towel around his hips and his wet hair plastered to his neck. He shot a glare at Hermione, who grinned.

“I’m only doing this because of you, Hermione,” he said. “I’m starting to believe that Ron caught Vanishing Sickness on purpose.” He looked at Hermione and narrowed his eyes. “Did he know that there was going to be a Masquerade?”  
  
Hermione shook her head and stood up. “I know you are going to enjoy yourself.” She smiled sweetly, before asking, “Do you need the bathroom again, or can I use it?”

Harry waved his hand. “Use it, don’t worry,” he replied, “I’ll change here.”

Hermione nodded and walked into the bathroom, she smiled one last time to Harry before the door closed at her back.

***

Harry wondered what took all the women he knew so long to get ready for a mundane event. Ginny took hours to try to achieve a natural look, and when he pointed out that if she didn’t do anything she would have looked even more natural, her laughter always let him know that she wasn’t taking him seriously. Now Hermione was taking hours as well, just like his wife. He did a mental note to forbid his daughter to take more than ten minutes to get ready for anything at all.

He glanced at one of the mirrors in front of him and sighed. This was one of the stupidest things he had ever done, but nevertheless, he was a bit pleased with the result. He didn’t look like the idiot as he had expected himself to do; on the contrary, he thought he looked rather handsome. He grinned at his reflection as he thought about Ginny’s face if she knew what he was thinking.

The robe, thanks to a fitting charm, was wrapped perfectly around his body, the laces and ribbons gave him an aristocratic air, even the tights and the ancient shoes fit the picture. He had used the make-up spell and now his face was slightly paler than usual — not all that big difference from his usual colour, actually — and his hair was longer and secured at the base of his neck by a ribbon of the same colour of the robe he was wearing. The crimson mask tightened to his face was just faultless, because, even if he didn’t look stupid at all, he wouldn’t have been too happy to let anybody see him dressed like this, especially at the Ministry if Hermione was going to take pictures of him.

He turned when the bathroom door creaked open and when he met Hermione’s eyes behind the elaborate mask his breath caught in his throat and he stared for what it seemed a bit too long a time. But he couldn’t help himself.  
  
Hermione was, if possible, even more beautiful than how she had looked when they had arrived in the city. She was a vision. The dress fell perfectly around her body, from the large skirt which reached her ankles to the tight corset which made her stomach completely flat and pushed her breasts up, in two flawlessly round and white globes which somehow managed to look extremely firm and yet incredibly soft. Her naked shoulders were paler than he remembered, and created a wonderful contrast with the dark colour of the dress, which went from under her collarbone to her wrists, where the large sleeves fell softly around her hands. Her hair was shiny and her curls were styled in a complicated hairdo that Harry had seen only in some portraits at Hogwarts and in pictures in his History of Magic books.

He came back to his senses only when she started to chew on her bottom lip, and her eyes wandered for his face with a helpless uneasiness.

“Do I look all right?” she murmured, looking at her dress anxiously, probably checking if everything was well covered from indiscreet eyes.

Harry’s lips closed and opened, but no recognizable sound exited his mouth. He had to clear his throat to finally be able to speak. “Everything is fine,” he said, and his voice came out in a strange high-pitched tone. “You… you look amazing.”

Hermione smiled and her pale cheeks coloured. “You look great too,” she replied.

Harry looked down at his own outfit. _Not compared to you,_ he thought warily.

“Shall we go?” she asked, turning towards the door and nodding gently, her curls floating around her face.

Harry swallowed. “Sure,” he replied.

He offered her his arm and she took it, lingering her fingers on his forearm and tugging at the material.

“Oh wait,” he said, letting her go and hurrying towards his bedside table. He picked up her camera and looked at Hermione. “Ron will have a heart attack when he sees these,” he said, taking a couple of pictures of her.

Hermione smiled and stretched an arm to take the camera. “Yes, he will,” she said, and as soon as Harry reluctantly handed her the camera she took a picture of him.

He groaned, but smiled. “Let’s go,” he said, checking his watch. “We wouldn’t want to miss a single second of the ball, would we?”

***  
  
The party was, despite what Harry had expected, fun and well-organized. Couples were dancing like there was no tomorrow, and the women’s dresses created beautiful swirling patterns of colour as their partners twirled them around the dance floor. There was a live orchestra whose music harkened back to another time and another place. The food was delicious, and the wine was rich and sweet like nothing Harry had ever tasted before. Harry made sure that he took some pictures of the buffet to show Ron when they got home. Ron would be green with envy, but it would be worth it.

“Do you want to dance?”

Harry turned to look into the shining eyes of his sister-in-law. She was more flushed than before, since she had already danced with the German representative — who was far too tall for her. She complained to Harry that her arms were already hurting her, and when she had danced with the Spanish representative she hadn’t understood a word he had said through his thick accent.

“Dance?” asked Harry horrified. “Err… Do I?”

Hermione pouted. “Come on,” she said, “nobody is going to know that it’s you.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him out to the middle of the dance floor. She turned to face him and placed one of her hands on his shoulder, whilst she offered the other one to him to take. He sighed and placed his hand over her waist while his other enlaced its fingers with hers.

They started to move, following the music, which was a bit too quick for Harry’s liking, since he had to keep up with all the movements without stepping on Hermione’s feet.

“Hermione,” he started awkwardly after he bumped into a short woman with his back, who swore in a language he didn’t know, “remember at your wedding? When Ginny and I crashed into the presents table.”

Hermione frowned behind the mask and nodded.

“I didn’t slip on a banana peel,” he admitted, “I lost my balance and almost fell over Ginny.”

Hermione giggled. “I knew that, Harry,” she grinned.

“You knew it?” he groaned.

She shrugged. “There were no bananas at my wedding feast,” she explained.

“And you still want to dance with me here in front of hundreds of people we don’t know?”

She smiled, but didn’t answer.

He shook his head. “You’re brave,” he said finally.

“I know,” she replied, “I was in Gryffindor.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile back. As the music came to an end, there were about five seconds of silence before the orchestra began a slower piece.

Harry looked at Hermione as she met his eyes and smiled, leaning her head against his chest and pressing the hard corset and her soft breasts against him. He had to move his hand around her waist due to her closeness, so that now it looked more like they were hugging than dancing.

He could feel her shallow breaths, caused by the tightness of the dress, against his chest, and it was a strange sensation. He liked it. He liked it more than he should have, he was sure about that. He could sense everything about her. Her wonderful feminine smell, lightly mixed with the scent of her make-up; the feel of her soft skin pressing against his; the touch of her hair brushing his cheek; all combined with the music of her breathing, which was almost more hypnotic than the one coming from the orchestra.

They both felt the change come over them as they stood there. _Stregati._ The enchantment of the city, of Venice, was affecting them.

“If Ron were here, we would have already moved this party into our bedroom,” blurted out Hermione with a sigh.

Harry’s feet stopped doing what he had hoped would pass for dancing and looked down at her. The hand that was on her waist came up to caress her face. Her eyes looked deep into his, she looked as if she was afraid she had said too much. He cupped her cheek and brought his face down until his mouth was only inches away from hers.

“We can still move it there without Ron,” he breathed in a voice so low and deep that he almost didn’t recognize himself.

His lips were on hers then, awkward at first and then more and more passionately and hungrily; and she answered him, her hands went around his neck, her chest pressed against his. Harry’s hands explored her back, pulling her forward to deepen the kiss even more, just as they had done on the bridge the night before. Around them the music still played on, couples swayed around them, paying them no notice. Everything and everyone else in the room just seemed to vanish as they tasted each other.

Harry cocked his head and the nose of the mask pressed into Hermione’s cheek, she smiled against his lips and he bit her bottom lip jokingly. She moaned now and he swallowed the noise.

When he finally detached himself from her, Hermione was panting, her hands still around his neck and her forehead against his jaw as she regained her composure. Harry’s hands went to hers and he freed himself from her grasp. He gripped one of her wrists and looked gravely at her. “Let’s go,” he murmured, starting to walk briskly towards the door and pulling her gently with him. They walked into the fresh air of the night, their steps the only sound audible as they rushed through the dark calles.

“It’s here.” Hermione dug her heels in the cobblestones of the calle and pointed to the place where the gondola that brought back to the locanda was moored.  
  
But Harry didn’t stop. He kept on walking, stubbornly passing by it, without even turning to look at her. They walked past some closed shops that sold glass and jewellery and he finally pushed her in a narrow calle, darker than the rest of the city in that starry night.

He trapped her between the wall and his body and pressed his hips against hers. He cupped her cheeks and lowered his lips to resume kissing her, but her hands closed on his wrists before he could cover her mouth.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered so softly that Harry could barely hear her.

“Nobody will ever know,” he murmured back.

She bit her bottom lip, but didn’t stop him when he kissed her again. His hands went to her waist, grasping the material as if trying to reach the flesh beneath it. Her hands went to clutch at his hair, pulling him into her caress.

When they broke away, she was panting; but Harry didn’t let her catch her breath. He started to kiss, lick and bite his way from her jaw down to her neck, her collarbone. His hands moved to her shoulders, trying to move the dress down her arms, but it was too tight to permit any movement. He left it and concentrated on trailing kisses down to her cleavage, his hands going to her breasts and pinching at them through the material.

She let out a gasp as his tongue found its way to her breasts. Her back arched and she pressed her head into the wall behind her.

Harry’s hand trailed its way down her leg and pulled to grab the hem of the dress and lift it up around her waist. It was a huge amount of material and Harry was grateful that it didn’t have any kind of hoops or stays sewed into it to help it keep its shape. For a moment he just considered using magic to make the whole thing just vanish, but his head cleared enough to remember they were in public. Besides, he preferred it this way. Rugged, awkward, magic-less.

He searched for her knickers in the darkness and hooked his fingers in their edges, pulling them down over her thighs. He could hardly see in the darkness and Hermione’s face was still hidden behind the mask, but he could feel the passion coming from her in waves.

He pulled his tights down just far enough to free his erection and moved his hands back to Hermione’s warm flesh. He raised his eyes to look at her. She was breathing quickly through her open mouth. She closed it when their eyes met, her hands went to his shoulders and she grasped the material with both hands. She nodded imperceptibly to him, and now it was Harry’s turn to begin breathing quickly.

He didn’t take his eyes away from hers when his hand went down to hook under her knee and bring it behind his waist. He moved slowly, achingly slowly, towards her, his hips meeting hers below her rolled up skirt.

She let out a gasp when he entered her. He pushed all the way into her, until he was completely encircled by her warmth. They held still for a moment, their breaths shaking, almost as if moving would make the whole thing real.

Unexpectedly, it was Hermione who reached up to press her lips against his again, push her hips forward and inviting him to finally start to move. Harry couldn’t do anything else but oblige. He started to move inside of her as if life depended on it. Their breaths were ragged as they kissed, his legs and buttocks so tense it almost hurt him, but everything faded away next to the incredible sensation that was Hermione around him.

She raised her leg on his waist, offering him a deeper angle of penetration and she moaned into his mouth as he actually dipped deeper into her. He brought his hand between them and found her clit. It only took a few more seconds for her orgasm to wash over her. She shook, freeing his lips, and let out a litany of ‘gods’. She tightened around Harry and, after a few graceless jolts, he followed her with his own climax.

***  
  
As Hermione fell on the bed with Harry on top of her, she thought distractedly for a moment to the fact that they didn’t want to ruin the costumes.  
  
She could feel Harry’s fingers struggling with the complicated closure on her back, while his mouth was busy licking her jaw.

“Don’t… don’t ruin the dress,” she panted.

“I won’t,” he murmured against her skin. He started to lick his way down on her neck and bit her collarbone with an eagerness that made her moan. That noise somehow snapped him back to reality. He knelt on the bed and looked down at Hermione, whose flushed face was staring back at him, her expression wavering between lust and guilt. Hermione was there, alive, in his arms, under his body.

He bit his bottom lip and for a moment she thought that he was going to leave and pretend this had never happened, and felt both lost and relieved, but he didn’t move away. He grabbed her waist and rolled her over with a swift movement. She could feel his fingers moving at a faster pace around the complicated ties of the ribbon that closed her dress.

Hermione pressed her face into the pillow as the dress was detached from her body. She felt the tight corset leaving her ribs free to expand again and then the sleeves were pushed a little roughly down her arms. She felt an arm sliding under her stomach and then she was raised from the mattress and the dress was pushed down her legs.

She pushed up with on her arms to turn to look at Harry over her shoulder, but he put a hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her back into the bed.  
  
She felt his other hand on her bottom then, his fingers scorching her skin as he found her thin panties and tore them from her. His finger found her opening and he pushed two fingers roughly into her, tearing a surprised cry from her mouth. Her hands clutched the sheets in pleasure, and her breath came out in shallow gasps as he pushed his fingers inside of her and then out again. Her body convulsed around them as she moved her hips to meet his thrusts.

His hand pressed down on her back to hold her still while he added another finger between her folds. She moaned when he started to press his thumb against her clitoris, but as suddenly as he had started, he withdrew his hand from her. She made a noise of protest, but heard him struggling out of his costume, his weight shifting as he divested himself of the tights, and then, finally, his body moved to cover hers. His hand guided his hardness once again into her soft, moist sheath. His stomach slid on her back, his hands closed over hers and his lips kissing her neck, eagerly tasting the flavour of her warm skin. He started to plunge into her, his thrusts becoming more frantic every second that passed. He eased a hand under her stomach and pushed on her hips, his other hand went to her face and he turned her towards him, kissing her passionately.

She broke the kiss only to let out a strangled moan as she came again. He released her and leaned back, while still thrusting hard inside her. She could hear him gasping as he arched his hips forward to throw himself in her. After a few minutes, Harry leaned over her again, his arm reaching under her to pull her against him. Harry’s growl of release as he came was barely audible to her as he forced his face into the tangle of her hair gathered at the nape of her neck.

Breathing hard, he leaned against her back and, still inside of her, he folded her arms next to her face and kissed her cheek tenderly. Neither of them moved as they waited for their breathing to return to normal, then they slowly drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

***

Hermione brought her knees to her chest and buried her head in her hands. Harry thought he might have seen a tear trickling down her cheek, but he wasn’t sure. The morning sun had found them both lying there together, covered only by a light sheet.

“What have we done?” she murmured so softly that Harry had to stop breathing to hear her.

Harry looked away from her. He was standing near the window, his back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing only the bottoms of his pyjamas, his hair was back to its usual length, the mask having detached from his face the moment he had opened his eyes that morning. He bit his bottom lip, but minutes that felt like hours passed before he spoke.

“We had sex,” he finally exhaled.

Hermione pressed her hands over her face and he could see her muscles tensing. “Why? Why? Why?” she chanted, rocking back and forth.

Harry turned to look at her. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

Hermione let out a nervous laughter and looked up at him. “You don’t know?” she asked with despair.

Harry took a deep breath before walking towards the bed and sitting down next to her. His hand went automatically to her back, stroking delicately the skin that he had learned to know so well the night before. “All I know is that you are beautiful, and I want you,” he murmured in her ear.

Hermione cocked her head. “It must be the _stregati_,” she mumbled.

“Sorry?” he replied, coming closer to her, his hot breath all over her neck.

She took a sharp intake of air due to his proximity. “It’s the _stregati_, remember what they said?” she whispered. “This city bewitches the people that come here.”

Harry’s hand slid on her back as he came closer to her, his face dipped into her hair and he inhaled sharply. “Yes, I am bewitched by you,” he murmured against her temple.

“Harry,” she murmured, closing her eyes and biting her lips. “We shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he replied, kissing her temple and pushing her towards him. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

Hermione turned to look at him, she opened her lips to say something, but when she spoke, Harry wasn’t quite sure that that was what she wanted to say. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, before crashing her lips to his.

Not even in his wildest dreams had Harry imagined he would have had sex with his sister-in-law three times in less than twelve hours. Actually, he had never imagined having sex with her at all. But now as she pushed him down on the bed and straddled him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if they had been doing that for years.

But that wasn’t the truth, and it was still wondrous for him to look at her beautiful body swaying over or under him. His eyes observed her face intently, and she looked back at him with resolution and lust. Her cheeks were becoming crimson with pleasure as she pushed herself up and down his length.

When she brought her fingers to idle on his chest, Harry brought his hands to her waist and started to move her faster, bringing her body down on hers with more force. She let out a moan and bent forward over him, and finally Harry could appreciate the mirrors that covered most of the walls and ceiling. 

He could see how wonderful their flushed and sweaty bodies looked together. Their rhythm was enchanting; his face was in rapture, her hair was a cloud of chocolate around her shoulders. He moved his hands up on her back and pushed her down to his chest, she clasped at his shoulders and let out an appreciative moan for the new angle of penetration. She pressed her forehead in his neck and he started to move faster into her. Then the greatest pleasure he had ever felt hit him as he felt Hermione’s muscles shudder around him. Out of breath and exhausted, they were both left laying there in a mess of knotted limbs, their pleasure slowly melting again into sleep.

***  
  
Hermione opened her eyes as a faint ray of sun hit her eyes. She tried to move her hand on the mattress, but Harry’s fingers were interlaced with hers and held her securely in place. She turned her head and found that Harry’s cheek was pressed against the back of her head.

“Hmm,” she moaned sleepy.

“What?” was the unexpected answer. She thought he was asleep, but he wasn’t. He was pinning her down to the bed, one leg over her thigh, his hands on hers.

“We have to go out,” she murmured sleepy, trying to arch her back.

“Why?” he murmured gently next to her.

“It’s Sunday,” she mumbled.

“So?”  
  
She opened her eyes wider and took a deep breath. “We have to take some pictures,” she murmured, “what are they going to think if we are back without any pictures to show them?”

Harry seemed to stop breathing, pondering her words carefully. “Do you want some pictures?” he finally asked, a hint of smugness in his voice.

She raised her head and turned to look at him. Her brows furrowed. “I do,” she answered unsurely.

“Okay,” he replied, moving away from her. “Okay. Some pictures you’ll have.”  
  
He grabbed the camera on the bedside table and pointed it at Hermione.

“Harry, what are you doing?” she asked, flushing and covering her breasts with one hand and her sex with the other.

“Taking some pictures,” he replied, pushing the button and capturing her image.  
  
“Harry, no!” she cried, looking away and covering herself as best she could.

Harry grabbed her shoulder and made her roll on her back, firmly but gently. “Why not?” he asked, taking another picture as he untangled her arms from her chest. “This is such a better view than the city.” He pressed the button again and this time she was sure that he had exposed more of her than anyone other than Ron, and now Harry, had ever seen of her.

“Harry, no,” she said, sitting up and reaching for the camera, which Harry promptly raised higher. “What if someone sees these pictures?”

Harry looked at her and his lips curled in a reassuringly way. “Nobody will see them,” he murmured. He grabbed his wand and waved it towards the camera, murmuring a spell that Hermione didn’t catch. When he let the camera go, it started to float around the bed and every few seconds it took another picture of them.

Hermione sighed. “Harry, I’m not joking, what if Ginny or Ron see them? What if Lily or Rose or Albus or anybody else see them?” She grabbed his hand as he was lowering it on her belly. “Harry,” she said warningly.

Harry looked at her, his head coming closer to hers. “I swear that nobody will see them, Hermione,” he murmured in her ear. “I swear that it’ll be our dirty, little secret.”

He pressed his lips against hers and she heard the camera taking a picture right above their heads. He freed his hand from hers and slid it slowly down her belly, flicked his thumb over her navel and then reached for her nest of curls.

He playfully rolled a couple of curls around his fingers and then proceeded south, until he found her opening, already warm and slick. He inserted a finger and she raised her hips to meet his hand. He started with a finger, pushing into her and rotating his hand to brush her warmth. He pulled out of her and when he was back he had added another digit.

He pulled in and out again and again, teasing and pressing, until he had all his four fingers into her and his thumb was pressing against her clitoris. His other hand was on her breast, while his mouth was swallowing the noises she was making. He let her lips go and she moaned more audibly, then he started to lick and bite his way down on her warm body until he reached her nipple and took it in his mouth, sucking on it until it was hard and flushed. He lowered himself on her again, easing onto the bed as his mouth slid across her ribs and waist, and finally reached between her legs. Hermione whimpered at the loss of contact the moment he took away his hand and dipped his face between her legs.

She gripped his hair as she felt his tongue flicking wickedly over her entrance. She took a sharp breath and when she exhaled, she breathed his name. She raised her hips and started to buck them against his face. His hands went to her inner thighs to stop her movements and open them wider at the same time. His untidy hair brushed her thighs and she shivered under his ministrations. He flicked his tongue on her clitoris and then down on her opening. Then, when his erection finally entered her she contracted around him almost immediately and gave a loud moan of pleasure as she came.

She was only vaguely aware of what followed. In the haze of her post-orgasm, she could hear the camera still taking pictures of them, and she could feel Harry entering her and hugging her. She looked at the mirrors on the walls from over Harry’s shoulder and shivered. 

They were sending thousands of reflections of their sin.

***  
  
Hermione was on the verge of tears when her eyes met Ron’s. She moved away from Harry as if he had some kind of very dangerous illness and walked briskly towards her husband. She looked at him for a few seconds before actually pressing her lips against his.

She kissed him again, and then again, ignoring the fact that Hugo was watching them with an annoyed expression and that Ginny was chuckling next to Harry.

“I missed you,” she said between the kisses, almost terrified that Ron would notice the deception in her voice and know that she had betrayed her love to him.

Ron smiled, rather pleased at her confession. “I’ve missed you too, but I thought you were still angry at me for catching Vanishing Sickness.”

Hermione backed a little. “No, I’m not angry, don’t worry about it,” she whispered, her voice a bit strangled.

Ron grabbed her hands, untangled them from behind his neck and looked at her. “So, how was your weekend?” he asked gently. “Lots of pictures?”

“Not many, actually, mate,” replied Harry, “the camera sort of broke down on Friday.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’m going to get it fixed, don’t worry.”

Ron smiled back. “No, it’s all right. I can get it fixed, it’s my camera after all.”

“Yeah, but… well,” Harry sighed, “I actually broke it, so I insist on fixing it.”

Ron smiled. “Thank you, Harry,” he replied. He looked at Hermione. “That’s a pity. I really wanted to see some pictures.”

“There are some, Ron,” replied Hermione in a voice a bit too high to be normal, “we’ll show you as soon as they are ready.” She glanced at Harry but tore her eyes from him the moment he looked back at her, her cheeks flushed slightly. “Shall we go upstairs? I have to be in my office in two hours, and I still have to unpack.”

“Yes, and we’re going as well,” said Ginny, smiling to Hermione, “we have to get back home before you head to the Ministry, Harry. Lily really wants to see you.”

“Oh, I have a present for Lily, actually,” said Hermione, opening her bag and starting to rummage through it. “Here you are, it’s just a small thing I saw in a shop right before we headed back here.” She handed a wrapped box to Ginny.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Hermione,” smiled Ginny.

“Believe me, I had to,” replied Hermione, flushing and looking away. “I mean, she kept an eye on her uncle, didn’t she?” she added in a mumble. “Are we going upstairs to unpack, Ron?” she asked again.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, “see you at work, Harry. Bye Ginny.”

And as the Potters Disapparated, Hermione felt her heart grow heavier.

***  
  
When the parcel arrived it wasn’t as heavy as Hermione had expected, given the size of it. The box was beautifully wrapped in golden paper with crimson flowers on it. She took it to her bedroom, placed it on the bed and sat next to it.

It was addressed to her and only her, to be opened alone. There was no signature on the card that came with it, no sender’s address on the envelope. She felt her heart speed up, her hands started to shake without even knowing why as she tore the paper from the box.

The same dress that she had worn for the Masquerade was carefully folded inside the box. Its lustrous material was shining under the light of the lamp just as it had the night of the Masquerade. On the dress lay the mask that she had worn, along with a dried, crimson rose and three moving pictures. The first one showed Harry and her the first night they had gone out; the second one showed them dressed in their costumes for the Masquerade.

Hermione gasped as she looked at the last picture. It showed Harry and her asleep in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms with the sheets pulled up around them. There was a satisfied smile upon her lips as she nuzzled her face into Harry’s shoulder. Mixed emotions flooded her mind at that instant. She had betrayed her husband, she had slept with his best friend, but it had been so wonderful, so natural. She knew what she had done was wrong, but it hadn’t felt wrong. She couldn’t properly explain it to her guilty conscience. She knew that Harry loved Ginny, and that his own conscience must be wrestling with what he had done, but why had he sent her this picture?

Absentmindedly, she turned the picture over to tear the vision of what she had done away from her eyes. There on the back of the picture she saw the answer to her dilemma; the cause, the reason, the explanation to it all. For there was Harry’s untidy handwriting where he had written one word in large letters across the back.

The answer was simple, _Stregati._

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Italian to English Dictionary:
> 
> _Stregati:_ bewitched.  
> _Calle, Fondamenta:_ streets, called like this in Venice only.  
> _Locanda:_ inn.  
> _Maschera Incantata:_ Enchanted Mask.  
> _ 'Benvenuti alla Maschera Incantata':_ 'Welcome to the Enchanted Mask'.  
> _ 'Matteo, porta I bagagli dei signori nella stanza 214':_ 'Matteo, bring their luggage to room 214'.  
> _Ristorante La Piscina:_ Restaurant The Pool.  
> _Traghetto:_ water bus.  
> _Giudecca:_ one of the parts of Venice, contrary to what everybody believes it's not a _sestier_, but an island.  
> _Sestier:_ literally one sixth of Venice's surface. It indicates the six districts in which Venice is divided. The six sestiers are: San Marco, Santa Croce, San Polo, Cannaregio, Dorsoduro and Castello.
> 
> All the places I've mentioned in this fan-fiction really exist, and Ca' Dario's story is real: that palazzo is cursed.


End file.
